Fingerprints
by LilTigre
Summary: They speak through gesture what they cannot say out loud. DoC, slight game spoilers Implied ReeveVincent.


Insert standard disclaimer here. Let's face it, if I owned them, DoC would've been a BL game with no Yuffie or Shelke in sight, and lots more Reeve. And Cid. And Hojo. 3 Spoilers for chapter 8 (or 7, one of the two) of DoC- the airship level, to be precise.

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Tap. Tap. Tap.

Not even the gentle sounds of the Shera's motors and the click of metal on metal as he reassembled Cerberus could completely drown out the sound of soft footsteps on the floor. Not that anything like that could really have escaped his sensitive hearing, but other troubles were gnawing at him- and so he didn't quite notice the sound until the other was several feet away. Vincent didn't even look up as he clipped his Ice materia to the butt of the gun. "Did you need something, Reeve?" he asked, calmly standing up to holster the gun at his side.

"Can't put anything past you, can I?" Reeve smiled, but it was forced; tension and worry furrowed his brow and shadowed his normally cheerful green eyes. He stepped up to the observation window and lowered his arms to his sides, looking out at the landscape. The clouds were shaded in multiple pastel hues- the forerunner of the sunset. "I said I wanted to speak with you once more before the drop. Are you prepared?"

The taller man shrugged under his tattered red cloak, standing beside him at the windowsill. "As prepared as I can be." He glanced down at the WRO comissioner. "But that's not what this is about, is it?"

"No. It's not." Reeve watched the clouds sail by, their shadowed forms making their own reflections ripple in the glass. "I saw the claw marks in the engine room." He glanced up over his shoulder. "Chaos?"

Vincent pursed his lips in a scowl behind the cloak. "I know you've been having trouble since Rosso attacked you at Nibelheim. I-"

"I'm not a danger to the WRO or anyone else, Reeve. I can control Chaos just fine." His voice was icy, glacial; his face was set in impassive stone.

The other man shook his head and turned to face Vincent. "That's not what I'm worried about. I trust in your control. It's just that . . . ." He sighed, raking his messy bangs back and scowling slightly. "I'm worried, is all. After everything that's been happening- with the Tsviets, Chaos . . . Dr. Crescent." The last name drew a startled glance from wide crimson eyes. "I'm beginning to regret drawing you into this mess. You deserve better."

Vincent turned to face Reeve, eyebrows drawn down in a confused scowl. "They would have come after me regardless. You know that." He turned back around to stare at his reflection, seemingly dismissing the other man. "We're almost there. You'd better check on the rest of your crew."

He'd expected that to be the end of the conversation, so he was startled when Reeve reached out and took his hand. His large, warm, human hand folded over the cold metal and leather of his gauntlet, fingers pressing into the palm and squeezing gently. His thumb brushed over his leather-clad knuckles before rubbing the metal plating, leaving his fingerprints behind. "Just promise you'll come back safely," he finally said, eyes focused firmly on the harsh glint of the sinking sun.

The sun dipped back behind a nestled group of pastel clouds; very hesitantly, very carefully, he folded the talons of his left hand over those warm fingers for a few brief seconds. ". . . I will," he finally said, voice soft and rasping.

They stood there for several long, silent moments, broken only by the sound of the engines whining as they began their descent. Reeve cleared his throat as if ready to say something else; one hand raised up as if to reach out before he drew it back, biting his lower lip slightly. He let go of Vincent's hand, drawing it away and back to his side. "We're overdue at our stations. Shelke will be your primary contact through the PHS; if you have any messages, she'll relay them to us."

Vincent dipped his head in a nod. The WRO comissioner stared at him for one long second before turning smartly on his heel ato leave. ". . . Reeve?" he managed.

"Yes, Vincent?" The voice was steady, deep and warm.

". . . I'll see you later, then."

Reeve glanced over his shoulder and smiled then, one that banished the shadows from his face and made his eyes light up. "Good luck," he said, then turned and whisked his way out the door.

Vincent watched the door slide closed behind him before looking down at his left hand. The fingerprints were still there, smudges on the pristine golden surface; the leather was still warm where he'd held onto it. He smiled slightly, just the barest tilt of the corners of his lips, then turned and left the room.

He'd come back. He'd make sure of it.


End file.
